The Flames of War
by teepotty
Summary: Elia gave Rhaegar all what he most desired : his precious warrior daughters, first Rhaenys and then Visenya, Aegon's sisters reborn. Now, all he needed was just that, an Aegon to complete the beautiful image he could picture quite clearly. Robert's Rebellion still happens. Varys' meddling hold true. Jon is a Targaryen.
1. Chapter 1

Elia gave Rhaegar all what he most desired : his precious warrior daughters, first Rhaenys and then Visenya, Aegon's sisters reborn. Now, all he needed was just that, an Aegon to complete the beautiful image he could picture quite clearly.

R + L = J.

* * *

Jon Sno- _Aegon Targaryen's_ petulant glare did nothing to lighten Visenya's mood. Her brother was once again brooding, gazing wordlessly at the wall instead of helping her concoct the plan they needed to perfect.

She did her best to stay, truly she did, and did what Rhaenys always advised her to do : play nice. She asked him once, twice, thrice what route they ought to take when taking Astapor, which strategy would suit best, but all he did was wistfully sigh, lost in thoughts, and not once had he deigned response.

The strained silence went on until it was more than Visenya could endure. "What it is, Aegon?"

He recoiled. "Do not call me that," he told her, like he did a million times before. Visenya raised an eyebrow, and would have scoffed had she not wanted to maintain the stern, _absolutely done with your shit,_ image she was projecting. She knew he well liked his name, liked how powerful it sounded, how belonged it felt being called that, though dealing with that guilt? filled conscience of his had pushed him to detach himself from anything remotely Targaryen.

"I'll call you whatever I see fit," she declared cooly. "now, do tell."

He bit his lips, furrowing his brows while doing so. It made him look younger, somehow, she thought. A lot more desirable, also.

 _Concentrate._

"I-"

"Get on with it."

A silence, again, and then, with a tone of defeat, he said, "Arya," as if that single word explained everything. _It did,_ thought Visenya, ignoring the ugly feeling growing inside of her. Arya Stark was, is, and will always be Jon Snow's companion, a bastard he may be, or a king. She had always been, long before Visenya even knew of her little brother's existence, and will always remain so.

She gritted her teeth. It would not do, she told herself, to looking the jealous wife part before being titled one. "What of her?"

"She feels .. disregarded."

 _Like I do, perhaps?_

"She understands not .. that I wish to -"

"- remain alone?" Visenya prompted. When he nodded, she frowned. Since when did her idiot of a brother confide in her, anyways? He could always go and whine to sweet, understanding Rhaenys. Their sister was better than the both of them combined with dealing with _emotions_.

But Rhaenys was not here, Visenya reminded herself, suddenly feeling cold. And with no one to turn to but her ..

"Then tell her so," she said simply.

He sighed, as if he couldn't believed she said that. "What do I tell her, pray enlighten me?"

"The truth would be more appreciated, I reckon. Though you ought to sweeten it a bit."

"Oh, you wish me to tell my eleven years old sis-"

She hissed.

"-cousin," he corrected, blushing, "that I am not her brother?"

She glared at him through narrowed eyes. For a moment, she felt the rage tearing at her lungs, plucking at her nerves until she wanted to twist Aegon's neck off. _There are things they ought to do, more important things than discussing Arya Stark's disregardment!_

She continued to eye him darkly until she noticed just how despaired he really looked - and only then did she let her face soften.

 _Was the girl that important?_

"Have you," she started tiredly, "considered - admitting to her, perhaps-"

"No," he said with a finality that reduced her to silence. There was a sharpness in his pale purple eyes that surprised Visenya. "I would _never_ -"

"You will one day conquer the Seven Kingdoms," she snapped, _with us by your side,_ "when will you finally accept-"

"Perhaps I want no crown," he said savagely, "perhaps I wish not to be King-"

"Be quiet," she snarled then, already tiring from the argument. _It always ends with that, does it not?_ "If you wished not to be King, you will not be here."

Another silence, Visenya ought to really get used to those. It dragged one and one, until Aegon could no more tolerate it. "I am not here for that," he said, voice low.

There was an odd expression on his face when Visenya turned to look at him - and what a face it was. Targaryen women were said to be the most beautiful ones in the world, but what of Targaryens men ..?

Dark curly hair - hair that shone silver in the light, oddly enough - framed those beautifully sculpted features : high cheekbones, classical straight nose, and sensual, full lips. _A mouth to keep you awake at night,_ she giddily thought.

He was still staring at her. "You are beautiful."

She rolled her eyes, "what it is that you want, _brother?"_

Her only answer for several seconds was a snarl, then -

"Do not call me that." He was very close to her now. "You know full well what it is that I want," he traced her jawline with his hand, his eyes never leaving hers. He wound his arms around her, clasping her to him backwards.

Her breath caught in .. she could feel him, _all_ of _him_. He rubbed a strong chin over her head, and she could almost sense him _smirking_ , the idiot.

"Listen now, Egg-"

"Oh, but I hate that surname," he said, chuckling. _I care not,_ ragged Visenya. "Yet you are so adamant in calling me that."

"It is as I said," she sniffled. "I'll call you whatever I see fit."

He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her against him. "Of course you will," he said, voice shaking from barely restrained laughter. "Tell me,sweet sister, what is it that you truly desire ..?"

She pounded on his chest with feeble fists. "For you to get away from my sight," she snapped.

He was laughing now, a full, breath-less laugh that could have had her blushing was she not preoccupied by keeping him out her way. "Oh, is that so ..? But tell me, _Visenya_ ," he purred the words out. "Tell me to stop."

She felt dizzy - and there was something tugging at her mind, a memory of some sort ..

 _Damn him, thought Visenya, her mood turning sourer and sourer. She always knew she would eventually share Rhaenys with another .. but with that gallant, politely cold fool brother they just found out about .._

 _Why, the thought never, not even once, crossed her mind._

 _Her sister seem to enjoy him. Of course she did, the teaser that she was. She also appeared to love the way Visenya's nasty glares greeted the pair every time they dreamt of one another .. it should not surprise Visenya. Rhaenys had always loved to get a rise out of her._

 _"Wait," said Jon Snow. Aegon Targaryen, Visenya reminded herself. He did look the Targaryen part, too pretty to be anything else, but he was also a Stark of Winterfell. T'is, she should not forget. "You might need this."  
_

 _He gestured to her sword, laid over the back of a chair. Visenya noticed that Aegon hadn't come any closer, or even bothered to looking her way while speaking._

 _"Alright," Visenya had said then, using that awfully cool tone her brother always spoke with while addressing her, "give me my shield, if you will."_

 _He stared at her longly. "Of course," he said, the strain obvious in his voice._

 _She noticed that he made contact only with the iron lid and not with her flesh. She lifted her fingers, and he drew back at once._

 _"Careful," she snarled, her anger too great to hold in any longer, "do not touch me, else you might get sick."_

"Damn you," she mumbled, intend on pushing him away as swiftly as he once did her. Instead, somehow, she found herself holding his arms, her fingers tightly interlocked with his. Her gaze slowly moved from their clasping fingers to his face.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and then, with a smile so genuine she almost stumbled back, he bent his head down to her lips.


	2. Chapter 2

Rhaenys was smiling, though she did not feel like it. Here she was, dining with her Uncle, Viserys, and her young aunt, Daenerys. The girl would not - _could_ not, truly - hold her gaze, and Viserys' eyes did not leave her.

There was nothing left of the boy she had once loved. He was not the quick, eager friend she grew up with - nor was he the good-natured Prince the realm remembered. His face was cold when he stared at his sister, and colder still when he looked at her.

And looking at her, he did.

Oh, but he was beautiful. He resembled her late father, and shared similarities with her siblings - the lips, the nose, and the sharp, high cheekbones. Daenerys even had Visenya's smile, when her sister deemed it fit to snap out of her normally grumpy mood.

 _How I miss her.. how I miss them both._

She dreamt of them last night, interlaced as they were. She knew they would finally give in their passion for one another. She spoke with them, embraced them, kissed them even .. but could not hold for longer. She was so very tired, her journey to Pentos a draining thing, and the frustrating silence was getting on her nerves.

But Rhaenys would not let it show - she was not Visenya, nor Aegon, to make her displeasure known. Instead, she grinned - again and again- at the yellow haired old, fat man who would smile back, at the pretty Uncle who would grimace in return, at the prettier Aunt who's only reaction was to dug her head and blush with embarrassment.

She smiled, and internally screamed.

* * *

"He fancies himself a King," said Rhaenys softly. "Tell me, Magister, what has prompted him to grow this - _angry_?"

What she meant to say was clearly insane, and they both knew it. The accusation had some merit, especially since the Prince would not control himself, and dared threatening the Magister right in front a _royal guest_.

"Prince Viserys," he said smoothly, "is prone to, _ah,_ childish tantrums, if I may be so bold. Though there is naught to fear for, Your Grace. He is but stressed, these last few weeks had been nothing if not .. a bit tough, I must admit."

 _Lie to me again, and I'll rip your tongue out myself. No need for my deluded uncle._

Rhaenys raised a single bow. "For whom? The Princess, or Viserys?"

"Your Grace?"

"I am aware of the Khal demanding my aunt's hand in marriage," her lips curled in distaste, "in return for an army."

"A worthy match," said the Magister. "And a worthier dowry."

Her nostrils flared. " _You dare._ A murdering barbarian - a rapist, by all accounts, marrying a _Princess of the blood_!"

"I'm afraid, my queen, that it is no choice of mine. The Prince Viserys feels obligated-"

"The Prince Viserys needs to consult me first before any decision is made. He is but a Prince, and I am _his_ Queen."

"Your-"

"I am, by royal decree, my father's heir."

"Your royal grandfather -"

"- was sick, mad with grief. And his declaration had never been legitimised."

There was a silence, then. "I am aware of your .. difficulties to move past such a loss," she whispered, pale lilac eyes taking in the way his breath hitched at once, "and I find myself almost - apologetic."

"Almost," repeated the Magister. If he was angry at her choice of words, he showed it not, his smile never dimming.

Illyrio Mopatis was an odd man, his yellow hair and forked beard making him stand out - there was no speaking of the pink robes he was wearing .. an odd man who had no business been so interested in another continent's politics.

Yet here was he, and here she stood.

"Aegon _Blackfyre_ ," she continued as gently as she could, which was not saying much, "it would have been so easy, had Visenya been born a boy, to say, replace them both."

Illyrio humored her.

"And had my son not died," he added amusedly, eyes twinkling. "Yes. I can see it now. So utterly simple, Your Grace. A little prompt Cersei Lannister's direction, another one Eddard Stark's way.. and well, a Civil War or two might just do the trick -"

"Utterly simple, you _say_."

The man bristled. For an instant, pure fury surged in his eyes, a dark wave of menace. Then they went calm and glinting amusingly and he smiled, a swift, brilliant smile that he turned off again instantly.

"Hypothetically, of course."

"Of course."

Rhaenys laughed. Hers was a warm one, not unlike the Magister's dead son, if his somber face was to be believed. "I like you, strangely enough," she finally told him, "and it is no habit of mine, I assure you."

He inclined his head, pleased. She continued, "I was told you wished for an audience with a Queen. You may speak."

His smile grew threatening.

"Oh, but I must. It is a story I so wish to narrate. There was once a pair of twin, fair haired and fair skinned, with the greenest eyes there is. And both of them loved the other so very, very much-"

* * *

She dreamt of them once again that night.

Visenya kept on sniggering. Aegon's expression was one of pure surprised and disgust.

"Oh, don't be a hypocrite," said Rhaenys with a grin. They were in a forest, one of Visenya's creation, she knew. Her sister had always been such an imaginative person.

"I blame them not for that .."

"Don't be a prude. Say it."

He sighed. In the moonlight, his black hair shone almost like liquid, soft and fine. " _Fine._ I do not hold .. er, making love -"

"Making love, he says. How _romantic_."

"- I do not hold it against them," he said firmly, reddening. "But cuckolding a _king._ T'is an honorless ac-"

"An useless king," corrected Visenya, tilting her head mockingly. "An Usurper. He got what he deserves, in the end. The gods may be just yet."

 _"'Senya-"_

"Though, I am nothing if not grateful. They did hand us our kingdom."

"Not so fast," said Rhaenys, noting the way Aegon blushed at the casual use of _our._ "We still need an army."

The air tensed. "Viserys is grandfather come again," she continued sadly. "I hoped - for a moment only-"

Visenya's hand was quick to find her own, and she kissed them tenderly. "Shh," she whispered. "Sister, hush. Cry not. We always suspected-"

"If only he had come with us to the Water Gardens," she said quietly, "perhaps - perhaps the madness might have -"

A sort of hysterical laughter surged up in Rhaenys' throat, and she choked it back.

" _No_ ," said Aegon forcefully. His face was full of concern. "Nothing could have prevent that-"

"Surely, surely," she told them between two hiccups, suddenly feeling the urge to cry, "Daenerys. _Dany_ , you should have seen her .. Oh, Visenya, she looks just like you .. so young .. so fearful .. she would not utter a word in my presence .."

Visenya squeezed her hand, trying to convey what she felt. "Listen to me," she whispered, "you were but a child. You could not have saved them.."

"I could have tried-"

"You are trying, now," she interrupted sharply, "my love, you cannot take responsibility. Robert would have never accepted it. It would have lead to _war_."

" _Damn him_."

Aegon's fingers wiped her tears.

"You are not to blame," he said softly.

She felt it then, something powerful was jerking her.. tearing her away with such a force she felt herself crumble.

"Rhaenys-" she heard her brother distantly calling for her, and as she looked up one last time to see a pair of worried bright violet eyes - Visenya's - she realized with horror that she was fading.

"Rh-"

Someone shook Rhaenys awake. Her eyes snapped open to see a too-close face staring down at her, everything around them still shadowed by the darkness of an early morning. She opened her mouth to speak, but a warm hand clamped down on it, gripping it shut. Panic flared until she saw who it was.

 _Daenerys?_ Though she was surprised, any alarm melted away immediately.

The girl looked at her with Visenya's eyes. She couldn't help being curious, wondering what her young aunt wanted with her. She nodded, doing her best to convey that _yes_ , she would _not_ scream, until Daenerys finally took her hand away, leaning back slowly.

"Follow me," she said simply, standing. She reached down and helped Rhaenys to her feet - her grip was stronger than Rhaenys had imagined it would be, which did astonish her, for Dany seemed thin and frail, "before Viserys wake."

Any lingering haze of sleep had already vanished from Rhaenys' mind. She knew she should hold some suspicion, having no reason to trust her yet, but the curiosity won out. "Very well," she said at last. "lead the way."


	3. Chapter 3

A three-headed dragon of red iron hung from the walls. It was huge, Bran thought with stupefaction, so big it had to be made in at least five dozen pieces.

"What is that?" he asked, his voice shaking. He had always been curious, had always loved to learn, to know - but something felt terribly wrong, standing there at Winterfell's old courtyard, staring at that cursed sigil instead of the proud, greyish direwolf.

 _Cursed?_ the hissing turned to laughter. It was ancient, and cold, and almost sly. _You mean blessed, little one. Do not play ignorant, it suits you not. You know full well what it is._

There it was, again. That raven that seemed not to get the hint - _leave me alone_ , said Bran, his courage wavering. _Be gone._

His voice trembled. And the bird, with his three crimson eyes, did not shrink from him. In fact, it did not move at all, did nothing but blink down at him. It was still perched in the oak tree, and it seemed to be watching him with the same intensity it always did.

There was a wrongness about it all. The air was tense, loud, brash.

"Be gone," he repeated softly, "please - go away."

"Ah," said the Three Eyed Raven calmly, "you _fear_."

The silence was what Bran hated the most. He no longer dreamt of being a knight and serving the realm of the _living_. His nights were consecrated to long, confusing conversations with that mad, ugly bird, and the worst of it? He could not speak of it with no one else.

Else they would label him stupid, or worse yet, _mad_. They would confine him in his rooms, he was sure of it, and would never take him seriously again - he did not even believe it himself, how could he dare to hope someone else might -

"Please."

The three eyed raven considered him for a long moment, then, he said, a chilling low whisper, "if you would not talk to me, then-"

"Then nothing," said Bran sharply, already tiring from playing the quiet little obedient pup. "I would not hear you. Be. Gone."

"Very well."

There was something sinister in the way it spread its wings - something both sinister and triumphant. Bran's throat tightened. _No_ , he wanted to say, _wait_ \- _I meant no disrespect - stay, please-_

Bran woke up screaming.

* * *

Brandon was used to the occasional weird experience - waking up in a dog's body, conversing with talking animals, Sansa willing to play with him - but usually, they were over quickly. This moon's silence was more than he could handle. The Three Eyed Raven did not seek him, sleeping was back to what other people would consider normal. There were no more visits into the past, the future, or even the present.

It was all he ever wanted.

But why did he feel so alone, so empty? Even climbing could not cheer him up. _The raven wants to mess with me_ , he thought shakily, _I did not hallucinate it. It was very real. I'm not insane. I'm not._

Still, Bran started to forget. There were times he could not recall _its_ warnings, other times he forgot about _its_ name. He almost did believe that everything that had happened - or _didn't_ happen - would not affect his family. They were protected, nothing would tear them apart, of that he was sure.

 _Your family will die one by one if you do not heed my advice._

He started feeling cranky and irritable most of the time. When Arya asked, for the ninth times, why he was such a stupid snot, he snapped, called her a selfish brat. Mother gaped at him, but his dark headed sister took no offense, and smiled her crooked smile.

Then the execution happened, and the direwolves came again. He remembered Jon's unreadable expression as he cradled the pup in his arms - _Ghost_ , he had named it. _You'll be Ghost_. Bran had went pale at the sight of it. _Red of eyes, white of furs. The Targaryens colors...merged with the Stark's._

* * *

Bran sat very still, watching the doomed man as impassively as Father, as Jon, as Robb. He had been dragged by Father's orders, looking ragged and broken and utterly afraid. The prospect of death terrified him, though he tried so hard to hide it, to imitate his lord father's solemn expression.

He could sympathise with him, fear was not foreign to Bran. He watched from afar as the guardsmen forced his head down, and finally, _finally,_ Father dismounted. He had forsaken Father's face, Bran reminded himself. It was Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell who accepted the sword Theon Greyjoy brought forth, not Bran's father.

 _Ice_ , Bran thought, and suddenly shivered. He remembered a sword as long, as pale as this one.

 _Protect the sword,_ urged a voice in the back of his mind. _Protect it!_

"YOU!"

There was a silence. Father tightened his hold around the hilt of his greatsword.

"Me?" said Bran, when the man's eyes settled upon him. He felt rather than saw Jon move behind him, but his attention was solely fixed on the condemned ma- Gared, he had called himself.

"Yes, you," he nodded eagerly, "he told me to hand you the message - he told me it would make great differences. He told me to try - to waver your defiance."

"Whom?" asked Father, a great weariness in his eyes.

Gared ignored him. "My lord," he said, addressing Bran, "he accepts your terms. You bid him to leave you alone, and he did so-"

"Leave you-" started Robb in confusion, his tone laced with worry.

"I did," interrupted Bran coolly, but his expression was relieved, _I am not insane, t'is happened and happens still_ , "yet it seems he is adamant in having me brought to him."

"My lord," said Gared again, this time desperately, "he spoke to me. You need to -"

"I don't think so."

Father's lips thinned, and he looked at Bran as if he was seeing him for the first time. With a start, Bran realized everyone was staring at him with that very same look. _They had never seen me this angry,_ he thought, _but I have a good reason. What happens between the three raven eyed and yourself, stays between the three eyed raven and yourself._

 _They won't understand, beside, they never would._

Gared seemed positively close to tear now, and Bran almost felt sorry for him. _Almost._

"Your Grace!"

The title had Father wincing. Robb made to move, and Bran frowned, _with whom is he speaking? Not to me, no. There is no royalty-_

"You called?" said Bran's bastard brother with a smirk. It seemed so alien on Jon's normally expressionless, sometimes kind face.

Robb turned to stare at him, blue eyes full of unasked questions. Bran saw that Theon scowled, and looked uneasy at the prospect of a _smug_ Jon Snow.

 _"What do you_ -"

"Your Grace, please," continued Gared quietly, "you need to warn them. All three of them. Only you may discover what truly lies beyond the Wall. Only you might awake the weapons."

Robb spoke up. "This is madness-" he glanced at his brother for confirmation.

But Jon, who until now had only titled his head in consideration, nodded. "Very well. You have my promise."

Gared sighed in relief. Father took hold of Ice with, Bran noticed, trembling hands. Robb stared at Jon blankly.

"In the name of Robert of House Baratheon," Father began, rather quickly. Bran had known of course of the formal sentence his lord father had to deliver, in fact, he had been waiting for this particular moment : Lord Stark executing the King's Justice.

Though, Bran could not shake the feeling that there was some mistake, in calling Robert that, "King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm-"

"Do not look away," said Jon over Father's voice, his pale lilac eyes never leaving the condemned man. There was little they did not see, Bran knew. For a moment, he thought he saw anxiety in them —the same fear he had seen in the three eyed raven during his frequent dreams —as if his brother too felt an odd chill in the air. But then his sullen expression returned, and his lips curled into a small grin for Bran, and only Bran, and he figured he must have been mistaken. "Father will know, if you do. And keep your pony in hand."

"I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die." Gared sent one last sad filled glance their way, then Father lifted his greatsword high above his head and brought it down.

Father turned away immediately. The odd chill was still there, growing colder and colder, a tenseness that had everyone move so slowly, so fearfully - no one said a thing when Theon put his boot on the head and kicked it. No one seemed bothered, too.

"You did well," Jon appraised, solemnly. He ruffled his hair, and for a moment, Bran felt everything would be alright, surely-

"Jon!" Father called, voice strong and face pale, "Brandon. We need to speak. _Now_."


End file.
